Josh Trichilo
Bio
I am a graduate student in cultural studies writing a dissertation on sound and disaster in Japan. I am also part-time translator. My hobby is bouldering. This is a space for short fiction and accounts of my dreams.
Stories (4/0)
A Cloak of Destiny
The infant slept wrapped in her extra linen shirt and fleece scarf on a pile of hay over the packed dirt floor. The ward she had placed to inhibit the child’s awareness of The Power was doing its work. It was a necessary evil for the infant’s protection. She could not watch the child in her sleep, after all. But placing the ward always left her feeling sour. The Power flowed through all. It was not the child’s fault she happened to distinguish its current so early.
By Josh Trichilo3 years ago in Fiction
Ramen--Or, Ramen Broth
The Story This food blog could begin: I was in Japan—it was always gunna be ramen. But that would not be true, exactly. I was not traveling. So, let’s try again: I was living in Japan; I found ramen as it found me. Nope. Still not quite right. “In Japan” rings false in my ears, despite lilting like beautiful melody in most Westerners’ ears. But this is not just about Japan either. “In Canada,” say, strikes me as wrong too. “In (country x)” always says too much and not enough. But, in another sense, it is also about the phrase “in Japan” insofar as the further East “we” travel in our minds, the more whole and sparkling these places appear. Where saying “in Canada” might be met with a predictable list—“cold; hockey; kindness”—you might also expect a “where?” Encounter the phrase “in Japan,” however, and you won’t hear a list of predictable nationalisms, let alone a “whereabouts?” You’ll get a very different list—“Wow! Amazing! Lucky!”—usually followed by, “that’s where I want to go.”
By Josh Trichilo3 years ago in Feast
The Seeker
He fancied himself a collector. His favourites were found in a dark place, deep and forgotten. He liked hard things. Shiny things. It was an unwelcome habit. The Leaders always said, “we don’t touch what we don’t make. Especially not lost-things from the Lost Land.” But he watched his people glance sidelong at these lost-things, saw the fleeting glint of curiosity there. Something in them, something in everyone, seemed to stir when they saw them. The small objects taunted them as they called to him. In truth, he was not sure which he liked more, the things or the envy. But that changed when he found the greatest lost-thing of all.
By Josh Trichilo3 years ago in Fiction
